


Childhood

by LadiesOfDust



Category: snonk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:20:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26809525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadiesOfDust/pseuds/LadiesOfDust
Summary: Asra, Asra, Little Bird
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	Childhood

Hell

Asra’s first, most cherished memories were of ever-dark skies, speckled with stars as red as her mother’s eyes. She could still feel the black sand, gritty between her toes. She could still smell ash and smoke on the wind.  
She would never forget the cold of that place, one that set deep into her bones. It was a cold that you couldn’t do a thing against, one that you were forced to surrender to, and she loved it.   
Her mother loved the cold as much as she did, and they would stand outside together for hours, Aarya pointing out constellations until Corwyn came over, begging them to come inside, lest they freeze.  
He was the one person in their little group of three who wished for a warmer climate.  
Oftentimes, Asra would join her father by the fire in his study, the one place in the house that was kept at his preferred temperature, and he would swaddle her in blankets, despite her laughing protests.   
Gods, she had loved that place.   
The house was always full of light and laughter, her mother’s singing and the faint sounds of her father’s pen scratching across the paper as he sketched.  
They had thrown parties, colourful things that had entranced her as she watched from the top of the stairs, too young to join in. 

It was perfect.  
And so, it was doomed to end. 

She was seven years old when they left Hell, and that beautiful house.   
Even now, she didn’t understand exactly what had happened. 

Her mother had woken her up in the middle of the night, or what passed for night in a place that had never seen the sun. Her voice was tearstained and shaky, frail.  
Asra, Asra, Little Bird, we have to go. Grab Gryphon, hurry now.  
She hadn’t questioned it. She had just picked up her stuffed animal, and slid out of bed, her hair a mess, her gaze sleepy.   
And they had left.   
Asra would never see her birthplace again. 

Wildfell

When she felt grass for the first time, she nearly cried. Not from joy, but from fear.   
She didn’t understand what it was. She didn’t understand why the stars were white, or why she could only see them at night. She didn’t understand why she had to wear the runed locket that hid her wings and horns, or why she couldn’t speak her mother tongue any more.   
She didn’t understand why it was so warm here. 

Every night, for the first six months that her family lived in Wildfell, she asked when they were returning to Hell. Every time, the answer was I don’t know.   
On the night of her eighth birthday, she asked when they were going home. This time, she was told that this was home now. 

Over time, her memories of Hell began to fade, and she grew to love Wildfell. The sun felt good against her skin, and the people here were kind.   
Slowly, the Wildfell house grew as bright as the one in Hell had been.   
She spent hours wandering through the halls, watching her father paint, learning how to read runes with her mother, talking with Kaelan, the mayor of Wildfell.  
The parties began again, her mother sparkling in the centre, practically flying across the dance floor with her husband.  
When Asra turned eleven, she was finally allowed to join in.

It was perfect.   
And so, it was doomed to end.

She was twelve years old when her world imploded.   
She was thirteen when she left.  
This time, she left alone.

Asra, Asra, Little Bird. Run.


End file.
